Two years…

It’s been two years since I last saw my neurosurgeon. Two VERY long years.

After my last visit, my doctor had me make my follow-up and MRI appointments in two years because everything was going according to plan. I was off my AEDs and had been seizure free for three years.¬†He just wanted to make sure the dark spot in my MRI scan wasn’t anything to worry about.

Since the last time I saw him, I went from being three years seizure free to having frequent convulsive seizures. Epilepsy had woken up just like the white walkers did in Game of Thrones. The monster had decided it was time to rule again.

The ruling part never happened. I wasn’t going to give up without a fight. I got back on my meds, started figuring out my new seizure triggers and changed my routine to try to avoid them.

The first of the two years was the worst. I spent a lot of time at the neurology clinic. I got scrapes and bruises from my falls. I was exhausted and met more paramedics than I ever wanted to. I scared a lot folks and had to explain to them that I wasn’t crazy, although my husband and friends will tell you otherwise. ūüėČ

Those two years came and went, and it was time for my MRI and to see my neurosurgeon again. For me, the worst part of getting seizures again isn’t just dealing with the entire ordeal. It’s having to tell those who’ve supported me along the way that the fight they thought was over isn’t. The sadness in their eyes hurts the most because I don’t want to see those amazing, wonderful people blue.

To them I say, I’m doing alright! My recent MRI shows no abnormalities. I’m close to re-reaching my one year milestone. Yes, the fight isn’t over, but I’m going to be fine. I still have a lot to do. I need to show the world that even people with holes in their head can do anything they set their mind to.

 

I could have had it worse…

MRI Scan

I remember the kicking and the screaming I did so long ago.

Why me? What did I do wrong? It’s not fair! I was a repeating record.

Now, I sit here almost three years later, massaging the small dip in my skull.

I know now that I could have had it much, much worse.

An occasional strong, spiking headache is what’s left of my seizure disorder.

The empty bottles I won’t have to refill anymore lay abandoned¬†in my night stand.

Almost a decade ago, the kiddy tantrums felt necessary, and I did get more that just bumps and bruises from those futile scenes. I learned something, too.

Instead of being angry at the entire world, I learned that my energy was put to better use in fighting my battle against epilepsy. After all, it wasn’t¬†anyone’s fault, and throwing a fit wouldn’t solve anything.

Looking back, I know I could have had it so much worse.

I could have had over 100 seizures a day. I could have been unable to finish college and find a job.

I could have gone through those painful months of recovery¬†just to find out surgery¬†didn’t work.

I could have, but I didn’t. I survived.

So I sit here hoping that this electrifying storm¬†passes by soon, but if it doesn’t that’s okay.

It’s okay because my epilepsy battle is coming to an end, and I’m going to come out¬†so much stronger.